


Merry Little Christmas

by juniperhoot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, Hints of Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:55:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperhoot/pseuds/juniperhoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a craptastic year for Dean Winchester, and he's prepared to spend Christmas alone, indulging in obscene amounts of scotch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Little Christmas

“Scotch. Make it a double.”

The bartender nodded and set out a tumbler, filling it with strong liquor before sliding it toward the man at the end of the bar. Dean Winchester accepted the drink with a gruff, “Thanks,” then knocked it back and gestured for a refill. The second drink disappeared as quickly as the first, without eliciting a word from the bartender. This time of year, it’s not unusual to see the lonely filter in from the streets, huddling together around bars strung with cheap tinsel garland and colored lights, the season’s festive tunes washing over them with unintentional irony as they drown another year of sorrows in glasses of amber and ice.

After acquiring another double shot of scotch, Dean hunched over the bar, sipping and trying not to think about all the promises he’d made that he couldn’t possibly keep. Promises to keep people safe - what kind of hunter makes promises like that? After Mom and Dad and Bobby and Jo and Ellen and… no, it’s too soon to think about poor, trusting Kevin, and his terrible, ruined eyes. _Don’t think about Sammy… and the lies you told him, for no goddamn good reason. What have you done, man?_ He took a large gulp of the potent whisky, focusing on the burning sensation as he swallowed, focusing on the sound of Bing Crosby crooning in the background, focusing on anything other than the aching, desolate wreckage in his soul. _Don’t think about Cas, out there preparing for a war, alone, because you sent him away._ The glass was quickly drained and refilled.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, covering them with one hand. He was tempted to pray, but come on. _Talk about an exercise in futility. And presumptuousness._ In his gut, he knew he had no right, not now.

Someone slid onto the next barstool, and a familiar, gravelly voice spoke. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

Holding his breath, afraid to believe it, Dean peeped out from under his hand. He exhaled a trembling, “Cas.” With a rapid succession of terrible scenarios playing out in his head, Dean glanced over his friend, worried for a moment about what could have brought him here, but he looked clean and well-groomed, no signs of fighting or blood.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel shrugged off his overcoat and draped it over an empty stool, turning his intense blue gaze. “I assume this seat is not taken?”

With a confused shake of his head, Dean said, “No. I mean, it is now.”

They sat in silence for long moments, each nursing his tumbler of scotch, each uncertain where to begin.

“Look, Cas, I don’t know what brought you here, but--”

“You shouldn’t be alone at Christmas.”

Dean swallowed, fighting the lump in his throat. “How can you even… I mean, after everything I’ve done lately...”

Castiel nodded, knowing where this was going. “You were lead astray, Dean. You thought you were doing the right thing. I… believe I have relevant experience in such matters. We have, both of us, a talent for being preyed upon by the untrustworthy.” He offered a wry smile, then added, “I can’t say I wasn’t hurt by your choices. But then, I imagine you could say the same to me.” With a surprisingly philosophical clink of his glass against Dean’s, he sighed. “We’re in the same boat, my friend.”

Green eyes shining with emotion, Dean nodded and took a gulp of his drink, exhaling a rueful, “Yeah, we are.”

Raising his voice slightly to be heard over the mellow-but-festive musical stylings of Nat King Cole, Cas called for another round, and raised his glass. “Here’s to learning from our mistakes.”

“I’ll drink to that.” They each took a hearty swig, then looked at each other. Riffing on the theme, Dean offered a toast of his own. “Here’s to better choices in the new year.”

With a sardonic wink, Cas mimicked Dean’s responsorial, “I’ll drink to that.” After another mouthful of scotch, he clapped one hand on Dean’s shoulder and intoned, “Here’s to true friends.”

Dean cast an eye to the hand on his shoulder, then looked over at Castiel, nodding. “True friends. Yeah,” he breathed huskily. “I’ll drink to that.”

They drained their glasses, and Cas started to motion to the bartender for another round, but Dean put his hand out and shook his head. He had a frighteningly high tolerance for alcohol, but even so, he’d just put away a hell of a lot of scotch. The throaty, emotion-filled voice of Judy Garland was singing about muddling through somehow, and on top of all that booze, it was more than Dean could handle at the moment. “What do you say we go back to my place… maybe watch a movie? I bet we’ve got a copy of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ or something.”

“That would be nice, Dean.” Cas slipped into his coat and glanced at his friend with concern. “But you’re not dressed very warmly.”

Spying a discarded Santa hat on a nearby table, Dean pulled it on, shrugging at Cas. “Happy?”

Castiel squinted a little and muttered, “Very festive. I just hope the hat’s owner doesn’t object to your reappropriation of their property.”

Whisky-mellowed, Dean threw an arm over Castiel’s shoulders and chuckled as they stepped out into the snowy night. “Losers, weepers.”

That settled, they ambled companionably toward the bunker, the sound of crunching snow beneath their feet. Occasionally, they’d pause to admire the festive lights twinkling around windows and doors, or sparkling from the branches of the trees in a yard. Dean expressed a particular fondness for the large plastic figures - Santa, snowmen, reindeer, whatever. Yeah, they were tacky, but they felt like home - or what home should be, in a world without the constant perils he’d been exposed to from an early age.

The one exception to Dean’s rule of the wonders of glowing plastic was a figure of an angel, which elicited a muttered, “Angels are dicks.” Cas cleared his throat a little, prompting Dean to add a tactful, “Present company excluded, of course.” He grinned at Castiel, who chuckled and slipped his arm around Dean’s waist.

“Of course,” Cas said. “It would be strange for you to walk through town with your arm around a dick.”

A laugh bubbled up in Dean, quietly at first, quickly gaining momentum until he was gasping for air. Castiel was drawn into it, and the two men stood there, side by side, laughing and clinging to one another for support. Dean raised a hand to tousle Cas’ thick, black hair, the corners of his eyes still crinkled up with amusement. “Damn, man, you are the only person who ever makes me laugh like that.”

A gentle smile illuminated Cas’ features as he adjusted Dean’s Santa hat, brushing away a few snowflakes along the way. “You make me laugh, too, Dean. You’re a very amusing person.” His hand came to rest on Dean’s shoulder, lingering warmly. Castiel tilted his head a little and added, in a tone nearing the subdued intimacy of a confessional, “It makes me happy, hearing you laugh.”

Dean glanced around then leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of Castiel’s ear as he stage-whispered, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, old friend, old buddy, old pal... It makes me happy, making you happy.” Impulsively, he planted a tiny kiss on Cas’ cheek, then whispered again, “I just want to see you smile, you know?”

He stepped back slightly, his eyes searching for a response. The hesitant, pleading smile on his face grew broader as Castiel smiled up at him with unreserved affection. Cas leaned in again, gently caressing Dean’s cheek, as he murmured, “You have Christmas lights reflecting in your eyes, Dean.”

Without hesitation, Dean closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Castiel’s. An exhilarated thrill coursed through him and emboldened him, as he felt the angel wrap his arms around him in eager response to the kiss. Cas parted his lips, inviting further exploration, and Dean eagerly accepted the invitation, delving deeper, moaning softly as he tasted scotch mingled with what he assumed was simply the taste of Castiel.

“Cas… you taste like Christmas…,” he breathed, before returning to his slow, thorough exploration of Castiel’s mouth. Dean’s fingers swept through Cas’ hair, lingering at the nape of his neck as the kiss deepened. Mirroring him, Cas brought a hand up to caress Dean’s face, knocking the Santa hat to the ground. He moved to pick it up, and Dean nipped at him and growled against his lips, “Forget the fucking hat, Cas. Just kiss me.” Dean slid one hand to the small of Castiel’s back, pulling him close enough to make their mutual arousal inescapably evident. His other hand grabbed at Cas’ tie, tugging possessively.

With a low groan, Cas agreed continued kissing was the best course of action. Their mouths moved with a rhythm of perfect imperfection, tongues hungrily seeking and devouring, lips crushing together then shifting and coming together again. Dean felt his body aching for more, aching to feel skin on skin, but couldn’t bear to break away from the heady, unexpected wonder of this kiss.

“Dean…,” Cas murmured, pulling away a little. Dean kissed Cas’ chin and jaw, and exhaled a questioning, “Hrrmmph?” He glanced up, and saw Cas nodding toward the house behind him. Turning to look, he saw the porchlight flashing on and off. An elderly woman stood at the door, shaking her head and gently shooing them away.

“Oh.” Dean cleared his throat and ducked his head a little, offering a sheepish wave and a louder-than-intended, “Oops. Merry Christmas!” The old lady waved them away once more, then slammed her door shut and turned off the lights in her yard. Dean turned back to Castiel, trying not to laugh. “How long was she standing there?”

Cas shrugged. “I can’t be certain. I was given to understand it was customary to keep one’s eyes closed during a kiss, so I didn’t observe her arrival.”

“Ah. Right.” Dean chuckled. He drew a deep breath, then let it go in a great whoosh as he steadied himself. “So… did you still want to watch a movie, or...?” He swept his gaze over Castiel, then locked eyes with him.

Cas took Dean’s hand in his, raising it to plant a series of tender kisses on Dean’s knuckles. “Perhaps we should focus on just getting back to your place, for now. Privacy would be… a very good thing.” He kissed the tip of Dean’s forefinger, closing his lips around the fingertip and gently suckling it for a moment, his intense blue gaze observing Dean’s expression melt under his teasing ministrations. Dean shuddered, growling low in his throat. He pulled Castiel in for a quick but heated kiss, then whispered huskily, “We’d better haul ass to the bunker, or that sweet little old lady is gonna get a hell of a show, Cas.”

They turned to go, and Castiel stopped, then scooped up the fallen Santa hat. “It seems a shame to waste it here in the snow,” he explained as he pulled it down over Dean’s hair. “Besides, it suits you.”

“If you say so.” Dean slipped his arm around Cas’ shoulders again, and they set off together, quietly humming the tune they’d heard as they left the bar. The starry sky sparkled and shone, and the snow crunched satisfyingly underfoot, and for at least those precious moments, Dean’s heart was full. This Christmas, he had exactly what he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Technically, it's still Christmas, if we go by the old reckoning of the Twelve Days starting on the 25th. So this is absolutely not late! I'm just extending the holiday cheer a bit.
> 
> This little bit of fluff was inspired by two lovely pieces of fan art/manips:  
> http://irensupernatural.deviantart.com/art/Destiel-Christmas-416884023  
> and  
> http://jessepinked.tumblr.com/post/55778266009  
> I love, love, love the creativity and talent of the SPN fandom.


End file.
